


Temptation and Damnation

by MasterOfThePen



Category: Magic Kaitou, Persona 4, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Cheating, Community: dramadramaduck, Corruption, Crossover, Dark, F/M, Guilty Pleasures, Kink Meme, Loss of Virginity, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterOfThePen/pseuds/MasterOfThePen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has tasted forbidden fruit, and now he will always hunger for more...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temptation and Damnation

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the LiveJournal RP Community DramaDramaDuck Kink Meme on 9/23/2009.
> 
> Prompt: Hakuba x Naoto, guilty!sex, or "tasting forbidden fruit" → as high as you want, anon~

She is a prisoner, and he, her captor. Behind her, he stands, arms wrapped about her petite form, holding her close. His words, whispered in such dulcet tones, arrest her attention, and she can think of nothing else.  
  
“It's all right,” he says. “There's no reason to be afraid. Don't you trust me?”  
  
She cannot answer. Her body trembles in his embrace. From fear? From excitement? There is no proper name she can give to the strange sensations tingling along every nerve because she has never experienced this feeling before. This dampness between her legs. What does it mean?  
  
She is like a clock spring, tightly wound, waiting for some reaction to set her off.  
  
One hand slides downward and works open the fly of her jeans. She holds her breath, waiting. Watching. He slips his hand beneath her underwear and caresses her. She exhales sharply. His fingers stroke the soft petals and tease them open. There are small callouses on the tips of his fingers. She arches against him, grateful for his support. With the precision of a watchmaker, he locates the small, sensitive nub and begins to apply a bit of pressure. She whimpers and squirms within his grasp.  
  
“Do you like that?” he asks, and she can feel his breath on her ear.   
  
All she can do is nod her head a few times. He smiles and applies a bit more pressure, his finger sliding up and down her wet slit. A sharp moan, soft, but insistent. Oh, he likes that sound. He wants to pry another one loose like it. He inserts another finger, and she moans again. Ah, yes. Sweet music to his ears. His loins can no longer remain ignorant of her mewling whimpers. He closes his eyes and sighs softly.  
  
She cannot begin to fathom the depths of pleasure her own body is capable of experiencing. With two fingers, he has rendered her a quivering mass. Her legs have turned to jelly. Her only pillar of support is he who stands behind her, and she leans against him, her arms wrapped tightly about herself.  
  
“I... I can't—” But she is unable to complete the sentence. There are too many pleasurable sensations flooding her brain, leaving no room for rational thought.  
  
Her knees give way, and she thinks she will fall to the floor. But he keeps a steady hold on her with one arm, and sits back in an armchair that is close at hand. Her toes hover inches above the floor. And all this time, he has not stopped fondling her. Her fingers seek purchase within the plush upholstery. She feels something stiff press against her lower back, and she is not so naïve as to not know what that means. She knows that he is aroused; that there is to be a mutual exchange of services here, in his study. And she is nervous and a bit frightened because she does not know what is expected of her.  
  
He can sense a nervous tension within her that is not wholly born from physical arousal. She needs reassurance. He will give it to her.  
  
Gently, he places a soft, fluttering kiss against her neck. And another. And another. He can feel her pulse beating double-time beneath his lips. She twists in his grasp, twists her body in such a way where she can face him while still sitting comfortably in his lap. He leans down and presses his lips against hers, seeking permission to take the kiss deeper. She opens her mouth and invites him in. She is timid and shy, but he will guide her. He leads her tongue in a sensual dance, and though she is clumsy, she is also eager, and he likes that about her. Always straight-forward, even when she is unsure of herself.  
  
She is the first to part from him. She rests her head against his chest, eyes closed, as if in concentration. Her breath has been reduced to a series of short gasps which seem to grow in intensity. He knows what is coming, and speeds up the pace, his fingers teasing the small bud buried within those engorged petals relentlessly.  
  
It feels like there is a small furnace burning within her lower abdomen. Something coils tighter and tighter deep within her belly, waiting to be sprung. She spreads her legs wider, hips twitching up against his hand. Something is about to happen, something both wonderful and terrifying all at once...

And then the spring within her finally snaps, and she cries out. Pleasure pulses through her body with the rhythm of a ticking clock. She gazes drunkenly up at him through half-lidded eyes, and is surprised to see his features are not so completely composed, as before. He is no longer in control anymore, she realizes.  
  
It is with practiced restraint that he reins in his more animal passions; resists the urge to simply throw this girl to the floor and descend upon her, like a beast ravaging its prey. No, this is to be her experience and hers alone. He waits for her body to stop shuddering, waits for her breathing to grow steady before he pulls his hand free and releases her from his grasp. His fingers are slick with her hidden nectar, and he licks it up. Greedily. Like a starving man.  
  
To partake of forbidden fruit is to invite damnation; to taste it, eternal bliss. The woman who holds his heart will understand that much. She will not begrudge him this small taste.  
  
“Delicious,” he says, blue eyes gleaming. “Like honey.”  
  
She blinks in wonderment. “Let me try.” With the unselfconscious ease of a child, she takes his hand by the wrist and pulls it toward her mouth. She inserts one finger and sucks on it, tasting herself. It is a wholly unrecognizable flavor, one she cannot readily identify, but perhaps there is some faint sweetness.  
  
He champs his teeth together, bites down on that pleasured groan that nearly escapes from him. Her small, pale hands holding his wrist; her mouth clamped on his finger, sucking it curiously, sets his brain afire. He imagines, briefly, what it would be like to have her lips wrapped around him below—No. Only madness lies that way. Madness, and damnation. He has given to her what he can, and will accept nothing in return.  
  
“Th-that's enough, now,” he says, unable to keep the small tremor of failing restraint from his tone. He swallows and carefully composes his features once more. Gently, he pulls his finger out of her mouth and cups her cheek, drawing her in for a brief kiss.  
  
She closes her eyes and acquiesces to his wishes. She shifts her position, so that her legs are straddling his hips. She can feel the jutting hardness of him press into that damp spot between her legs, and she wonders what it would feel like to have him inside her. Never had she entertained such thoughts before. That is, until she met him, the man who would become so many things to her: partner, mentor, confidant, friend. And now, lover.  
  
He cannot stifle the moan that passes through his lips and into her mouth. He breaks off the kiss abruptly. There is an unsettling feeling that he is walking on a thin wire suspended above perdition. One false step will send him tumbling into those black depths.

She stares at him, and there is hurt in her blue-gray eyes. They are the color of the sky over London on a rainy day; a painful reminder of his faraway homeland. He wants to banish that look from her eyes, but he is unsure how to do so.  
  
“Please,” she says. She reaches up with one hand and tangles her fingers in the soft blond hair at the nape of his neck. The gesture triggers a small shudder on his part. “Let me return the favor...”   
  
Her small but strong legs clamp against his hips, and she moves against him, slowly, teasingly. There is no mistaking her intentions. He shudders again, eyes rolling back, unable to disguise that soft, pleasured sigh behind clever words and false pretenses.  
  
His watchmaker's hands settle against the small of her back and pull her closer. “That's not necessary, and you know it. This is my gift to you. I expect nothing in return.”  
  
“Hakuba...” she says, and he likes the way his name is uttered in that breathy whisper, “I  _want_  to. I want  _you_  to be my first...”  
  
A sharp intake of breath on his part. Then, she really is...? Of course. She has to be. There was no way she could maintain her masculine facade if she left herself that vulnerable to another person. They'd see the small, slender, boyish figure for her true shape: a budding young woman.  
  
“I... I can't, Naoto,” he says. “You know why.”  
  
She continues to plead with him.  _“Please,”_  she says. “I want you. Don't you want me? Even a little?”  
  
A small pang of guilt gnaws at the back of his mind. Of course he wants her. He had seduced her in the first place, after all, within the comfort of his own study. He knew her secret and exploited it for his own benefit. Took her into his confidence and betrayed her trust. And now, when she offers up the delicate flower of her virginity of her own freewill, he will become the chivalrous white knight once again? Refuse her sincere entreaty, all to maintain some thin semblance of professionalism between them?   
  
It is too late for that, and he knows it, deep down inside. He has tasted forbidden fruit, and now he will always hunger for more...

She stares into his brilliant blue eyes and waits for his response. She knows that there has been a breech in conduct. Like the walls of Jericho, a barrier between them has crumbled, irrevocably destroyed. She has no choice but to let him in now.   
  
The door has been thrown open, but he must choose whether to take that first step...  
  
He closes his eyes. He can't bear to look into that pleading, expectant face any longer.  
  
“I do,” he says softly. “I do want you. Very much.” God help him, but he  _does._  His own body has expressed that desire quite clearly.  
  
A pair of small hands cup his cheeks and pull him close. Soft lips press against his, gently, but insistent. And now she is the one who is leading, and he follows obediently. There is no point in maintaining this meaningless charade any longer. No point in resisting that which is inevitable.  
  
Her fingers tangle in his hair and her kiss becomes aggressive. Her tongue darts in and out of his mouth, and he struggles to keep up with her. He takes hold of her lower lip in his teeth, trying to assert his dominance once more, but she pulls away and nips at his throat. He leans his head back, feels her fingers tugging his tie loose. The collar of his shirt spreads open and her lips flutter against his neck. He surrenders, leaving his throat exposed. The soft touch of her lips has rendered him helpless.  
  
She lets her hands trail downward, toward his groin. The fabric of his designer slacks is drawn taut. She is already undressing him with her eyes. Anticipation makes her hands tremble as they work open the fly. She draws him out, her fingers tracing his length in a curious, cursory motion. She has never seen a man's cock before (outside of technical renderings in books), and especially not one in a state of arousal. She is eager to familiarize herself with this new piece of anatomy.  
  
His breath hisses between clenched teeth as those tiny, delicate fingers examine him, and he nearly comes then and there. But he is an experienced man, so he distracts himself by biting his lower lip painfully. Yes, pain will distract him. Pain will buy him a few precious moments.   
  
He is dimly aware of the fact that the girl has shifted her weight, and now she is on the floor, sitting on her knees. Her fingers continue to stroke him, slowly. He glances down at her; too afraid to move, too afraid to speak. Can only watch in wonderment as her lips brush against that velvet tip, and then her lips encircle his cock. His breath rushes out of him as she begins to suck curiously, just as she demonstrated with his finger.   
  
She is timid at first, barely moving down his shaft, but her tongue is practically dancing against him, so it's not all that bad. Soon, her head begins to bob against him, and she takes him a little deeper. A little more... Her nostrils flare wide as she struggles to breathe. She closes her eyes. Her cheeks hollow inward as she sucks him harder.  
  
His fingers have formed into claws as he grips the armrests. It takes every fiber of will within him not to grab her by the hair and force her down onto his cock, to make her choke on it while he thrusts deep into her throat. He is filled with the perverse desire to break this fragile girl; to sully her and make her as dirty and unclean as himself. It is fortunate that she cannot see the way his features have been twisted by pleasure into something bestial. She is ignorant of the dark thoughts slithering through his mind. For now.  
  
“Stop, Naoto,” he says. His voice is a low growl. “That's enough.”  
  
Either she does not hear him, or she is pointedly ignoring him. Regardless, the result is the same. With one hand, he tangles his fingers in her hair and pushes her back.  
  
 _“Enough, I said.”_  
  
Her eyes snap open as she is pushed roughly back and his cock slips from her mouth. She sits back on her haunches, confused. Hurt. What has she done wrong? Her head tilts downward, but her eyes remain firmly fixed on him.  
  
“Did I... do it badly...?” she asks.  
  
He stares at her for a moment, breathing heavily. Takes notice of her lips, gleaming with saliva and his clear slick. She looks so utterly vulnerable. And that's exactly how he wants her.

He has made his decision. He will possess her wholly. He will take her here. Now.  
  
Purposefully, he rises from his chair and stands, his shadow falling across her small, huddled figure. His lips curl back into a predatory grin.  
  
“Don't misunderstand, Naoto,” he says in a throaty purr. “You did well.  _Very_  well, in fact. But I want you to enjoy this, too. We should enjoy ourselves:  _Together.”_  
  
She notices the emphasis on that final word, and immediately understands his meaning. There is a hopeful look on her face. She has waited for this moment for so long...  
  
He kneels before her, placing his hands on both her shoulders, and forces her back onto the bearskin rug. She issues a small squeak of surprise, but no further protest. Roughly, he pulls off her jeans and boxer shorts, both wet from her arousal, and carelessly tosses them aside. His hands part her thighs with firm intent. Her skin dimples with goosebumps at his touch.  
  
She expects searing pain. Blood. Virgins bleed the first time, right? A symbolic sacrifice upon the altar of love. She gazes into his brilliant blue eyes which seem to burn with their own inner light. He will not hurt her. She knows this. She trusts him with her life; would gladly lay down her life for this man, whom she loves so dearly. A little pain is perfectly acceptable if it means becoming one with him.  
  
He pushes his way inside her, and she sucks in her breath. It feels... It feels  _right._  Like two pieces of a puzzle cut to fit one another in perfect symmetry. She exhales slowly in wonder.  
  
“Are you all right?” he asks. His expression is serene, if not a little concerned. She is happy to know that he is worried about her.  
  
She simply nods her head. “Go on...”  
  
Good. The corners of his mouth twitch into a self-satisfied grin. How completely she trusts him. It's quite endearing, really. And that is why he wants so much to possess her. Such an innocent little flower...  
  
 _Mine!_  his fevered brain screams as he moves against her.  _All mine! No matter how many years may pass, no matter how many lovers you may invite into your bed, you will always remember me as your first. My name shall be engraved within your mind by this single act of passion for as long as you live..._  
  
The girl squeezes her eyes closed and buries her fingers into the thick pile of the rug beneath her. She cries out. There is a bit of discomfort, but she can handle it. He thrusts against her roughly, and she cries out again. Pain and pleasure are at war within her, and still, she does not give voice to the tiny seed of doubt planted within her mind. This is not how she imagined her first time would be like, the fragile flower of her virginity torn from within her by a man with both cruelty and concern in his eyes.  
  
Her soft whimpers, laced with a bit of pain, only serve to further excite him. He clutches at her thigh, draws himself in deeper. He leans closer, his breath coming in heavy gasps, like a predator after it has successfully chased down and mauled its prey.  
  
She can feel his hot breath upon her face. Her eyes flutter open, and she is surprised by what she sees: this beautiful blond beast leaning over her, lips peeled back from white teeth, as if he would devour her.

Before she can think, takes hold of his face and plants a soft kiss upon his lips.  
  
And then, the fire which has been building in strength within her begins to blaze out of control. She screams, her body shudders against his. Fingers clench against his shoulders for support. It feels good.  _Too_  good. Surely, one could die from so much pleasure, so much joy...  
  
A triumphant growl. His conquest is now truly complete. There is no longer any need for him to hold back. With a few quick thrusts, he is brought to completion.  
  
She lays there for what seems like hours, in stillness, in silence. When the trembling of her body has ceased; when the rhythm of her heart slows; when her breath finally steadies; only then does she speak.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
He recoils slightly from those words. Love. Yes. He loves...  
  
He closes his eyes. God, damn him to hell. No, he won't need to worry about God... There is another who's wrath would be far more terrifying. The woman whom he betrayed. The woman he had given himself over to completely.  
  
But she will forgive him. She will forgive  _only_  him. But the girl lying beneath him—her innocent eyes boring into his own, seeking an answer which he cannot give—she will not be safe from the Scarlet Witch's wrath. He has damned her. Damned her as surely as Eve damned Adam by offering him the Forbidden Fruit, simply because she was afraid to suffer alone...


End file.
